Ghost Stories

            Every year, for a few days at the end of October children morph into sugar hungry zombies, chocolate powered superheroes, and candy bar princesses. It is a transformation that renders them unproductive in their music lessons and a lot of fun to talk to.

            In classrooms decorated with cardboard witches and paper ghouls I’ve begun each lesson with a question: Do you believe in ghosts? The answers sparked lively debates that were a wonderful waste of our time together. Several students even claimed to have seen or heard a ghost up close.

            Reader beware. The following stories are true.

            Queens:

           

            A. 7^th grade: There’s this house near my street that is supposed to be haunted and so my friend and I went to see how close we could get, and I was like ‘did you hear that?’ because I heard what sounded like high heels walking right behind us but there was no one there. He didn’t hear it but then I let him go first and then he heard the high heels and I couldn’t.

            Me: So it was only in that one place you could hear it? What did you do?

            A: We got out of there.

            Bronx:

           

            T. 5^th grade: This one time I was sitting in the car and I saw a reflection of my friend in the windshield like he was walking by. I turned to wave at him and there was no one there.

           

            M. 5^th grade: I don’t believe in ghosts but I know aliens are real because my uncle is in the military and he says there are three places that are secret that have aliens and people can’t go there.

            Staten Island:

            R: 7^th grade: I was walking home and I saw my neighbor, this old man walking down the sidewalk. When I went inside my mom told me he had died earlier that day.

           

            Queens:

           

            L. 3^rd grade: I know ghosts are real. Her eyes widen. Because once last year, in second grade, a ghost stole my phonics book. I took it home and then when I got there it wasn’t in my bag. Then the next day, it was back in my desk.

            Me: So the ghost took your book out of your bag and put it right back into your desk as if you’d never taken it?

            L: Says nothing and nods.

            And now a ghost story from Eastern Europe. One of my all time favorites.

The Devil's Wedding

            Tallinn, Estonia. 1488

         

            The old man stood outside the empty boarding house at 16 Rataskaevu St. on a dark afternoon and pulled the rough, stiff cloth of his cloak close under his beard.           

            Winter crept closer.

            Pointed houses huddled shoulder to shoulder as if for warmth.

            Golden slabs of light poured from slender windows.

            Chimneys exhaled black smoke into the graying sky.

            The old man considered death.            

            He was broke, lonely and without prospects. Brashness in youth had squandered a fortune, impoverished his soul and somehow left his miserable body perfectly in tact. A miss-justice he was intent on remedying that very night.

            Turning inside to cement his demise over a final bowl of gamey elk soup, the old man found himself suddenly face to face with a stranger; a man well kept, young, and dressed in clothes that suggested his station was much higher than that of a disgraced boarding house proprietor.

            Later, when asked, the old man would not be able to recall one detail of the stranger’s face. Only that the stranger spoke perfectly with a slight accent and smelled like peaches. The old man had tried a peach once in his youth and never forgot the smell.

            “Are you the owner of this fine establishment?” the stranger asked.

            “I am, are you in need of a room? Or meal?” the old man asked, smiling inwardly that the stranger had called his ill kept house a ‘fine establishment’.

            “I am,” the stranger said, reaching into his coat. “I wish to reserve your entire top floor for a private event. One night only. Tonight in fact. I realize this may be an inconvenience, but I am prepared to compensate you adequately for your troubles.” The stranger produced a billfold and held it in front of the old man.

            “Good sir,” the old man said, taking the billfold in his greasy hand, “this is more than adequate. It is in fact too much...” the old man stopped himself, forgetting his planned self-extermination and realizing that the amount he held in his hands would not only pay all of his taxes this year, but the next as well.

            “You may take it all,” the stranger said, “but it comes with a ah... stipulation, if you will. A rather delicate one that requires desecration on the part of you and your houe. There is to be no record of my stay here. Not in your books. And you may speak to no one of my presence here. I require complete anonymity. Once I arrive tonight, you and any servants you have are to stay downstairs, away from the top floor no matter what you might hear. I will be having a great number of... callers tonight, but I will be gone in the morning and your home will be left as found. Is that agreeable, sir?”

            The old man nodded, not taking his gaze from the wad of bills clutched in his hand.

            His salvation.

            “Good, then make ready,” the stranger said.  “I will return shortly.” The stranger turned and left, walking east into the growing shadows and taking the smell of peaches with him.           

            The old man ran inside and roused the only other inhabitant of the boarding house. The servant was a man as old and broke as his master. Pure habit and lack of better opportunities bonded the two men together, although neither one could claim to really enjoy the company of the other. But for the next hour the two men worked together, preparing the top floor with a vigor and sense of duty that was uncomfortable to both of them.

           They had only just finished when the stranger entered the house.

            “The upstairs is ready for you, good sir,” the old man called as melodiously as his worn vocal chords would allow. The stranger walked to the stairs without so much as turning. The stranger ascended the stairs, his shoes sharp and noisy on the wood. The old man and the servant could tell by the sound the stranger had chosen the room on the right. The larger of the two.

            The old man and the servant took positions in the foyer to receive the stranger’s guests.

            None came.

            Yet the party started. The sounds began quietly at first, then much louder.  

            Music.

            Feet banging hard on the floors, dancing.

            A women’s laughter.                       

            “How the devil did those people get in there?” the servant asked.
            “I do not know, nor do I care, as long as they all leave tomorrow.” The old man was content only to ponder his new good fortune, and not the mysterious designs and workings of the stranger who’d bestowed it upon him.

            “I want to peak into the keyhole,” the servant said.

            “Do not, old fool!” the old man scolded. “It was a condition. He said not to go upstairs. Content yourself with the means to live he has provided us. Now off to your chambers!”

            The servant grumbled but went off to his room.

            The old man, tired from the activity of the day lay in bed himself and listened to the muffled sound of the party.

            At exactly 1:00 am the noise stopped.

            The old man feel asleep making note that he’d heard no footsteps exit the front door.

            The next morning he woke early to prepare the stranger a breakfast of toast and eggs. The old man moved around the house with the fuzzy feeling of a poor night’s sleep. The servant, not known as an earlier riser, had not yet emerged from his chambers.

            His patience quickly exhausted, the old man went to wake the servant. The old man entered the servant’s room and immediately became overwhelmed with the foul stench of perspiration and urine. The servant was in bed, staring at the ceiling, sweating profusely as if from fever but his skin was cold to the touch. The servant’s fingers were drawn in towards his palms like a claw, and he seemed incapable of moving them. The servant turned his head with great effort and looked at the old man.

            “I saw it,” the servant rasped, his voice foreign and strange. “I looked, through the keyhole, just to see.” The servant coughed once. “It was the Devil. The Devil was having a wedding party. It was the Devil.”

            The servant convulsed and died.

            News of the servant’s mysterious death spread through the town. The old man closed his boarding house for good and died shortly afterwards. Whether by nature or his own hand no one cared to investigate. The old man was buried with little ceremony and the boarding house was sold.

            Almost immediately the complaints began.

            The new tenants heard noises late in the night. Noises of a party in the room at the top of the stairs.

            Music.

            Feet banging hard on the floors, dancing.

            A women’s laughter.           

            And always stopping at exactly 1 am.           

            The new tenant took his complaint to the Town Council. In Tallinn, such complaints were common. New owners unsatisfied with their purchase but unable to renege on the terms of their contract would frequently describe supernatural activity as latent defect and demand their money back - with damages - for having not been so informed that the place was infested with spirits. It happened with such regularity that the Council was forced to make provisions in the Charter. After much debate it was decided that ghosts and other paranormal activity would not be recognized as basis for lawful termination of a contract. The new tenant in 16 Rataskaevu St. did not receive their money back, but they did receive several complaints from neighbors.

            The noise from the party was so loud that it began to disturb neighbors, passerbys, and anyone within earshot.  Several complaints were recorded in town meetings.

            Finally, in frustration the new tenant boarded up the window and painted on a fake window so it would not mar the façade of the house. He locked the door the room at the top of the stairs on the right and forbid anyone from entering it.

            The noise stopped immediately. No more reports or complaints were heard.

            A hundred years ago a renovation was done to the building, but the window wasn’t touched.  In the walls and in the floorboards were found a ladies parasol, a gentleman’s watch, a strange collection of coins and a shoe, items one might expect to find left behind carelessly after a lively party.

            The window remains sealed.

            The room on the right at the top of the stairs remains unused toady in the building at 16 Rataskaevu St. where over five hundred years ago, in the very old city of Tallinn, the Devil had his wedding. 

Below: 16 Rataskaevu St. today. The window on the top left is the fake window, boarded up hundreds of years ago to keep quiet the the Devil's party.